


Christmas Truce

by BlueOnyx



Category: Jurassic Park (Movies), Jurassic Park III (2001)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, First Time, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 03:02:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9157198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueOnyx/pseuds/BlueOnyx
Summary: But still, there was no reasonnotto believe his story, no clear indication that he was lying, and even if the wordconvenientskittered across Alan's mind, he wasn't going to protest—this was just what he wanted, after all.





	1. Alan

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I started this fic well over a year ago and missed the Christmas deadline, _again_. Yikes. Oh well, enjoy!

  


Finals week was over, winter break had begun, and Alan was alone. For the first time in months, Alan had no idea where Billy was, whether he was off on a plane, already with his family, or if he decided to take some time to be alone after the busy semester.

And it was busy, no matter how much Alan had altered his lesson plans to lighten Billy's academic burden, considering his recovery.

Their last lunch of the semester was a welcome ten-minute reprieve from sorting through finals, but the entire point being eating, they hadn't had time for more than a few words to each other. Alan had forgotten to ask Billy the things that had been stewing in his mind all week, or rather, Billy looked so preoccupied—no, _distracted_ , lost in himself—that Alan couldn't seem to find the seconds needed to bring them up naturally.

He should have done it anyway, even if it was forced and sudden, Billy probably wouldn't have minded. He should have asked if he had plans. Well, of course Billy had plans. He always did, but it was the first year that the holidays were approaching and the subject of Billy's family just. . . didn't seem to come up. Not even during Thanksgiving, and though that was one Billy seemed to avoid leaving Bozeman for in all the time Alan had known him, he hadn't mentioned any dramatic phone call with his mother lamenting his usual excuse of absence, not a word. Was Billy talking to them anymore? Alan knew from the time at the military hospital, that Billy hadn't planned to tell them anything about the island, even if the NDA wasn't a factor. Off the record, a few people wouldn't matter, and a family has a right to know these things, but no, he said, he didn't want them to know he'd been there at all. Alan understood—there wasn't a way to tell the little good there had been without facing the bad. It occurred to him that Billy's injuries were still too obvious, and maybe he wasn't going to see them anytime soon.

His injuries. That was another thing Alan didn't ask about. Billy was mobile, of course, it hadn't been too many weeks after the island when he'd regained most of his range of motion. But there was a stiffness that remained, an occasional odd step or wince and bite of his lip, not to mention the layers he took to wearing to hide scars. There was an exhaustion in his face, his manner, that would also manifest physically somedays. When the semester had started, Billy couldn't drive, and Alan, of course, drove him. They were mostly going the same places, and the ones that were different weren't that far anyway, not in Bozeman. It wasn't like it was particularly unusual for Alan to drive Billy back to his apartment, over the years there'd been all sorts of reasons he'd needed a ride. But at some point it went from _couldn't_ to _wouldn't_. It became habit. Alan didn't mind, it wasn't more than a few blocks. He was just glad to see him safe.

Truth was, he'd spent more time around Billy this semester than any other, but it was only in physical proximity. Talking to him was a minefield, the wrong turn of phrase resulted in explosive silence, and certain topics were off the table. Usually Alan wouldn't want to talk about them either, _understood_ not wanting to, but it was Billy's resistance that made him see how much it needed to be done.

Maybe he'd pushed too much, too soon. Billy eventually had begun to walk home more often than he asked for a ride, claiming it was better for his recovery if he regained some independence. Alan couldn't disagree. It was like a fog had descended around them. Alan wasn't sure these days how much pain Billy still felt. He wouldn't tell him.

Alan hated this gulf between them, wanted to find a way back across to Billy, find their easy silences again instead of these hardened ones.

He would have asked, should have asked. Their lunch had been on a Thursday, the last grading party that Friday, and with the other TAs there, it offered no time for side conversations. And then the semester ended. Billy had walked back to his apartment.

Now Alan was left with nothing, no information. Was Billy there right now, if he hadn't flown home? Maybe Alan should try calling the apartment, even though a lack of an answer wouldn't necessarily mean that Billy wasn't there. What would he even say? He could offer that they watch a bowl game together, but he couldn't remember if Billy was particularly interested in football—he only recalled a few shared commiserations about how badly the Bobcats lost, which was typical talk around campus and didn't necessarily mean anything. (What was it this year, the sixteenth loss in a row at the Cat-Griz game? That left everyone bummed, even Alan had to agree they were due for a win.) Billy never seemed to talk about it as an interest, or discuss rankings or such. And it's not like Alan kept up with any of the national conferences himself, but he'd watch a game if it happened to be on. Who was he kidding? It was only an excuse, one of the few that wouldn't mean outright admitting that. . . he missed him, that he needed to know Billy was doing okay.

Towards the end of the week, he'd almost given up any aspirations of calling. It was probably too late at this point, and even if Billy was still in Bozeman, he hadn't reached out to Alan either. Maybe he just wanted to be left alone. Maybe that was for the best.

Alan was deep in the middle of catching up on a few recent publications, when a knock came from the door.

Solicitors? Not so close to Christmas, and in this weather, surely—

Alan looked through the peephole and was startled when he recognized the brown eyes staring straight ahead. He threw open the door, cold air blasting in.

"Billy."

Billy skipped a hello, his gloved fingers grasping a black nylon strap as he went immediately on the defensive. "I know, I should have called, and well, actually, I did a few times, but you didn't answer. You haven't broken your phone now, too, have you?"

Alan ignored the question and looked pointedly at the duffel bag hanging from Billy's shoulder. "What is that?"

"Oh, well, see. . ." In a strangely put-on act of casual disconcern, Billy switched the bag to his other shoulder, suddenly winced, and it fell to the wooden porch with a soft thud. "It's kinda my reason for being here. I need a place to stay."

Alan stared as Billy slowly retrieved the bag, fighting the urge to pick it up for him. "Oh. What happened to your apartment?"

Billy's lips moved a mile a minute, his breath visible from the cold. "Heating broke. I offered to take a look at it myself, but they said something about 'getting a professional,' and, uh, 'liability,' 'taxes' or something, I don't know. But I _do_ know you have a couch in there, and it's calling my name." He finished his pitch with a smile.

Alan held his body in hesitation. He knew that it was a smaller building without many residents. And for heating to break in the middle of a Montana winter, it would be a dire issue for even so few people. Surely it would only take a day at most to fix, yet Billy's bag looked packed for more than overnight.

But still, there was no reason _not_ to believe his story, no clear indication that he was lying, and even if the word _convenient_  skittered across Alan's mind, he wasn't going to protest—this was just what he wanted, after all. He nodded his head in assent. "Yeah, yeah. Uh, come on in."

True to whatever mild theatrics he was performing, Billy went ahead and threw his bag in the armchair and plopped down on the couch, leaving Alan to close the door and accept the sudden change in his environment. And theatrics they most definitely were—each movement seemed weirdly calculated.

It wasn't just that, though. This Billy, who now had his feet propped up on the coffee table, was a stark contrast to the Billy that he'd sat quietly with only a week before, the Billy that stepped so carefully down the halls of the Department of Paleontology where he had once marched.

"Make yourself at home," Alan muttered after him, trying to hide the small smile that was creeping up.

Alan knew better than to bluntly ask what it was all about, though he wouldn't be out of line to do so. He needed to see what else Billy did. Alan could find a way to ask, eventually, hopefully without Billy clamming up again.

"Can I get you anything? Coffee?" Alan was walking to the kitchen already. "Uh, a beer?" He glanced at his watch. Just past four o'clock, but given the winter sunset, it certainly felt late enough. 

"Beer sounds good," came the reply.

When Alan returned, Billy was staring at the miniature Christmas tree Alan had set up on a table in the corner of the room, shaking his head as Alan handed him an opened bottle. 

"Alan, your Christmas spirit is lacking."

It was the only decoration in the room, the only thing he had patience for, and it was admittedly still pretty barren. Christmas just going to be him, after all, at the time he had put it up. "Maybe so. You're welcome to find more decorations, if you want, a couple boxes should be in the hall closet." It was mostly sarcastic, he didn't seriously expect Billy to take up the offer.

"Okay."

Billy had set down his beer and made it to the hall by the time Alan managed to call after him, "They're marked. Top shelf."

They spent the next hour adding things here and there, what various ornaments, garlands, and lights that had ended up in Alan's possession over the years. Most of it came from his previous place, the apartment he and Ellie had shared, with other things he'd been given and a few items he bought himself. 

"Aww," Billy cooed, picking up a deep red velvet stocking out of the depths of cardboard. "Alan." He held it up like a prize, showing the name elegantly written on the white top. "Should I hang it on the mantle?"

Alan grimaced. "Don't you dare."

Billy just laughed at him. God, Alan missed that sound. A wave of warmth washed through him, and he was all too glad to smile back. 

"Well, I don't have anything to put in it, anyway. And I didn't bring mine, either. We wouldn't want it to get lonely up there." Billy winked.

Alan felt himself grow warmer. He didn't know where this was coming from, Billy had been so cold—no, not cold— _lukewarm_ , for a few months. Now it was practically like they'd been at the beginning of the summer, before the island. When they'd been at their best, when Alan had really started wanting to _let himself_  get closer to Billy. As close as Billy wanted. And then, right after the island, when he thought they had finally come to a real understanding, and then. . . And now.

"No, we wouldn't want that." Alan collected the empty bottles. "Have you eaten?"

"Nothing substantial. We could order pizza," Billy suggested, a suggestion he must have known was doomed from the start.

"That's not substantial."

"Sure it is. It's just not very nutritious."

Alan sighed and waved for Billy to get up. "Come on. You're working for your dinner."

Dinner was simple, pork chops with a side of vegetables that Alan instructed Billy do up alongside him, eaten while they discussed a paper Alan had read that afternoon. But the food must have been unsatisfying, because Billy was rifling through the fridge while Alan washed the dishes.

"I can't believe you don't have eggnog. None. You don't have _any_." His ass was hard to ignore, sticking out like that while he reached toward the back.

Alan made himself stare down into the sink. "Can't stand the stuff."

A groan came from inside the fridge. "How do you live? How are you _alive_?"

"Sharp wit and fast legs."

It clearly wasn't the kind of response Billy wanted. His face emerged with a remnant of a smile that had fallen, but that was quickly returned, as well. "Ha, ha. Good one, Alan. I'm going to go sit." He left.

Alan didn't regret saying that. It only proved that, whatever front Billy had put up today, it was being tenuously held. 

When he finished up, Alan brought two more beers with him. The TV was on, tuned in to a Christmas movie Alan was sure he'd seen but couldn't quite remember the name of. Alan unceremoniously moved the duffel bag to the floor and took a seat in the armchair. They watched the movie together, and the one that came on after that, all in silence. An easy silence.

Eventually Alan heard a slight grunt, a huff, and steady breathing next to him. It wasn't quite as obvious without snoring, but Billy was asleep. The only light in the room was the soft multicolored glow from the tree. When had the TV and the other lights been turned off? As he rose from the chair, he saw Billy stretched fully on the couch, pillow under his head. It was then that Alan realized it was he who had fallen asleep first, and at some point Billy had settled down for the night without waking him. 

Alan found a spare blanket to pull over Billy and a real pillow to lay in between his head and the couch, hoping he would unconsciously adjust it under him during the night.

Upstairs, he crawled into his own bed, tired enough that the only thought to pass through his mind as he drifted off again, was how much he wished that the warm body asleep a floor below him was asleep beside him, instead.

  


..:•:..

  
The next day was different.

Billy was still asleep by the time Alan woke up, shielding himself tightly with the blanket against the chill of the early morning and his face half buried into the pillow. Alan figured the smell of coffee would be enough to lure him off the couch, but it wasn't until some bacon was well underway that Billy's sleep-mussed figure appeared in the kitchen doorway.

He stood blinking for a moment, looking utterly lost and not saying a word.

"Good morning," Alan prompted.

What could have been a mirrored greeting was strangled by an enormous yawn.

Billy took a seat at the table, merely nodding his thanks when Alan slid a cup of coffee in front of him. There he sat sipping in silence for the minutes that it took Alan to finish up the eggs and join him, both plates loaded with a breakfast Alan knew was delicious enough to bring life to a cadaver.

Alan had seen enough mornings with Billy to know that this wasn't normal. True, each morning at the dig buzzed with an inherent force of purpose—it was hard to be a zombie when the day was bright and there was important work to do. And every morning at the hospital was a toss up—either it was one of those days that Billy would spend mostly asleep, in which case, he would hardly wake before noon, or on a good day, Alan would be greeted by a weary but genuine smile.

Nothing like the blank stare that didn't seem to be directed at anything in particular as he gazed across the table. Was this normal for him now?

Alan wrapped a slice of bacon around his fork and speared a chunk of scrambled egg, taking a large bite. "Talk to me, Billy."

Billy still had both hands around the steaming mug, looking hungry for warmth and not the food before him. It was always weird to see him so disheveled. He almost appeared worse this morning than most days at the hospital. Maybe it was the quality of his sleep. What was Alan thinking, letting Billy sleep on the couch in his state? There was only one bed he could have offered him, but. . .

Finally Billy spoke, his gaze lowered even more. "I'm sorry, Alan," he said in a thick voice. "I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't have tried to—"

"No, Billy. I'm. . . I'm glad."

The words hung in the air for a moment, and Billy quickly looked up at Alan and cleared his throat. "I know things haven't been great between us recently. That's my fault. You didn't do anything. _Anything_. . ." He shook his head slowly.

There was something in his tone that gave Alan an odd feeling, something unsaid. _Add it to the list_ —a lot between them seemed to be unsaid.

"I don't know what I was thinking, yesterday. I just. . . I wanted to feel normal again. Wanted to pretend. Have things be like they were before, you know, _before_."

Before the island. He brought it up, but couldn't even put a name to it, the barest description of what had happened. Wasn't the first step always admitting it? "Billy, you're not normal. I'm not normal. Nothing is going to be normal, not quite, not again. And that's okay."

Billy buried his face in the mug, holding it up to get the last drops. Alan took it away gently to pour him another cup.

"That also doesn't mean it has to be _bad_." He handed it back and returned to his chair. "The first time in that hellhole changed me, I was off-kilter for years, but I recovered and a lot of good things happened since then. I was happy enough." Alan found Billy's eyes looking back at him. "And it might not be as obvious, but the second time changed me again. But we can get through this. We can still be happy." It was tempting to reach across the table and grab Billy's hand, to squeeze the message through to him, but Alan didn't move his hands from his cutlery.

Billy laughed, a little hallow, a little shallow, but still laughter. "I think the island _has_ changed you, Alan. I've never heard you say 'happy' that much. It's freaking me out." He finally dug into his food—now cold, but he didn't seemed to mind.

Alan didn't know how much of that Billy had actually listened to, maybe he would have to think on it a while. But the air seemed lighter, in any case.

  


..:•:..

  
For a while, Billy was a more subdued version of himself from the previous day. Small smiles, occasional laughter, and a few good jokes at Alan's expense, but his actions all felt genuine, and Alan was glad. It got into the evening, and after a few beers (plus the eggnog from a special grocery run that Alan refused to join, which Billy promptly spiked) the smiles grew wider, the laughter louder, and the jokes less comprehensible.

Alan had come back from the bathroom to find Billy kneeling and digging around through his record collection in the cabinet underneath the turntable. An album had been pulled out and put on the floor, which Billy picked up as soon as he noticed Alan had returned.

He held it up, and Alan recognized it from the artwork as Mannheim Steamroller's _Christmas_. "This is the only Christmas music you own?"

Alan took it from him, pulling the vinyl out of its sleeve. "Do I need more? It's a good one."

Billy ran his fingers along the tilting lineup, the plastic protectors rustling against his nails. "All records. C'mon, Alan, are you only compatible with tech that's at least twenty years old?"

"Hm. Thirty, just to be safe." He positioned the record and switched on the turntable, laying the needle down at the very start.

Billy grimaced when it began to crackle. "I'm buying you a CD player as soon as I can."

"Instead of wasting your money, I can think of about a hundred things we need for the dig. . ."

Billy groaned at the reminder and sat down on the couch, keeping to one side and leaving the other side wide open. Alan didn't know if that was an invitation or not, but he took it as one and joined Billy.

Alan closed his eyes, thinking back on the day, and the evening before. It was calming just to have Billy here, and the decorations somehow had a greater effect on him than they'd had in years. It wasn't quite Christmas yet, but it was a pretty good one so far.

He opened his eyes when the sweet scent hit his nose. Billy was holding his cup of eggnog near Alan's face, grinning as he offered a sip for the third time that evening. Alan sighed and batted the drink away, again, sending Billy into a fit of laughter that Alan couldn't help adding to.

How drunk were they? Alan couldn't quite remember the number of drinks, but he was certain that Billy had had more than him.

The second track started up, quieter, and Alan was suddenly caught up in Billy's eyes. He could feel himself leaning closer, wasn't sure if he was just imagining Billy doing the same. . . Was he really trying to kiss Billy? _Don't you dare, Grant_ , a small voice told him. The same one that had made him keep his distance for all this time.

He wasn't sure he was going forward anymore, but was the eggnog smell coming from the cup on the coffee table or was it on Billy's breath? Alan decided in that nanosecond that he didn't hate the stuff enough to not want to taste it on Billy's lips, to—

The phone began to ring. His trance was broken and Alan's mind snapped to, diverting his gaze to his watch. Eight-thirty-four. A little late for anyone to be calling, but it could be important. He decided to answer it in the kitchen to disturb Billy less.

"Who is it?" Billy called after him.

"I don't know yet."

"Caller ID, Alan, I'm telling you, it's great. I mean, that or a cell phone. . ."

Alan picked up the receiver. "Hello, this is Alan Grant speaking."

"Hey, Alan!"

The voice was unmistakable. "Ellie? Is everything okay?" He had to ask, considering their conversation a few months back.

"Oh, everything's fine! Sorry if it's a bit late but I figured since you're a couple hours behind over there. . .  I was actually in bed but then I remembered, and I didn't want it to be too short of notice—"

"Ellie."

"Right, well. Mark won't be here for dinner on Christmas Eve, something really important came up. So I was thinking maybe you'd like to come for the meal, it'd be really nice to see you."

"Well—" Billy appeared in the doorway and leaned up against the jamb.

Ellie must have taken his interruption as hesitation so she continued, "Charlie would like to see you, too. He keeps asking when 'the dinosaur man' is going to visit again."

Alan was trying to think, but his head was still somewhat fuzzy and Billy's observation wasn't making it any easier. "I don't know. Christmas dinner?" Billy raised his eyebrows at that last part.

"Christmas Eve. But dinner, yeah."

The twenty-fourth. That was in two days, on Monday. "Well, dinner's kind of late, and I can't stay overnight, so that might be too much." He didn't want to turn her down with harsh finality, but he also didn't relish the thought of spending most of Christmas Eve on a plane, the hours both there and back.

"Breakfast? No, how about lunch? We'll make a day of it, it'll be worth the flight, I promise. In fact, why don't I pay?"

"Now, hold on a minute, Ellie, I—"

"Alan, it's Christmas," she stated softly, some kind of justification.

"So?"

"So. . . given everything that's happened, I didn't want you to be alone."

It was a nice gesture, but Alan found himself resenting her assumption. "I'm not alone."

"Oh?"

Billy met his eyes. "Yeah, um, Billy's here, the, uh. . . the heating in his apartment broke down so he's crashing here for a few days while they fix it."

"His heating? That's pretty unfortunate."

"Yep," Alan said simply, giving away none of his real feelings on the matter. He hoped.

"Well, if he doesn't have any plans, then he's more than welcome to come, too."

Alan wasn't sure how much Billy was actually hearing. "Uh, I'll ask."  _That_ got his attention.

"Okay. You'll call back tomorrow? I need to know what flight you'll be on."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll let you know." Somehow it was the end of conversation already and Alan had agreed to the meal but didn't recall actually doing so.

"All right. Take care, Alan."

"Bye, Ellie."

She said a final goodbye and he hung up.

  


..:•:..

  
Billy had agreed—of course he'd agreed. Alan knew he loved Ellie from the time she spent with them at the hospital, and he obviously didn't have much else going on, anyway.

"As long as you're taking me with you. For a minute there I thought you were planning to leave me alone in your house. No telling what I'd get up to, I might have gotten worried and peed on the couch while you were away."

Alan laughed as he handed Billy the extra pillow he'd requested. "No offense, Billy, but you're funnier when you're sober."

Billy settled in under his blankets. "Then I guess I'll have to work on that."

Alan paused. "Are you sure you're okay there? I can take the couch." It was the second time he'd offered.

"Good night, Alan," was all he got in response.

Alan thought about that moment earlier, what might have almost been a kiss, and how differently the rest of the evening could have gone if they had. If, perhaps, he hadn't hesitated, like he always ended up doing. 

Maybe there'd be another opportunity. There always was. "Good night, Billy."

  



	2. Ellie

  


Things were only half done when Alan called from the airport. It would be another hour, Ellie predicted, before they were walking up to her door, but the potatoes weren't even peeled much less boiling. 

Oh well, she wasn't going to hurry. Alan could help out once he arrived, he had a decent hand in the kitchen. She smiled to herself, thinking of the times they used to spend together cooking, or whipping up something simple from a package in an attempt to drive away the usual taste of dirt and grit at the dig. It felt like a lifetime ago.

They arrived safely only fifty minutes later. She had a few moments to show them in and settle Billy down with Charlie and Annie in the living room before she dragged Alan off to help finish the meal up.

She poured him a cup of coffee. "I hope the flight wasn't too bad." He looked tired—far more tired than in the aftermath of his previous trip to that Hell. Maybe it was because he was older, too. Still, Alan was a fighter, and his intensity hadn't faded a bit.

"Not too bad, not too bad. It didn't crash, that's always a bonus." He winced slightly at her reaction. 

Ellie didn't need reminding of planes crashing. September had been a nightmare, and though Mark hadn't been in the area when it happened, he could have been. It shook her to the core. She was glad for her renewed friendship with Alan, that phone call afterward really helped her get through it.

"Sorry. There's just. . .  a few things I've got to try to get over. Both of us, Billy and I." Alan moved his gaze to the floor for half a moment when he mentioned Billy.

Billy. She'd had a few conversations with him at the hospital, after he started doing somewhat better and his head had cleared enough for him to hold one—after Alan had watched him until he was, and then some. She guessed at the time that Alan had an inordinate amount of guilt driving him to act that way, and that the exhaustion had been the cause of his softer tones when telling her who Billy was. His student, his assistant, his friend.

But he was at Alan's place when she called. Staying for Christmas, it seemed.

She wasn't going to guess how Billy liked to spend his holidays, but she knew this was a first for Alan. Alan didn't share living space on a whim, much less do something as intimate as spend Christmas with just one other person, without a reason. That reason became pretty clear over the course of the evening.

Dinner went almost as well as she'd hoped. Charlie decided he suddenly didn't like ham anymore after only one bite, and Ellie had to laugh. Last week it was graham crackers, and he'd gotten over that quickly enough.

Billy was nice. Bright, like he'd been at the hospital despite the nightmare that had happened to him. For how thrilled Charlie was that 'the dinosaur man' was here again, his attention was completely diverted by this _other_ , newer 'dinosaur man'. Billy's smile never wavered when Charlie bombarded him with question after question about dinosaurs, giving patient answers, half of which Ellie knew Charlie already knew because he'd asked her many times before.

Annie seemed captivated by Alan's face, and when he finally noticed, he gave her a smile that caused her to giggle wildly in her high chair.

The mood was interrupted briefly near the end, when Jack squawked a few times and Billy stopped what he was saying mid-sentence. He went a little pale before he turned around to look at the source of the noise. Ellie had covered the cage earlier so that Jack wouldn't get disturbed, but it seemed to have backfired since Billy hadn't noticed the parrot cage at all before then. She wondered about the reaction, and then she remembered how Billy's most critical injuries had been from that pteranodon attack. Ellie supposed she wouldn't appreciate birds too much after that, either.

It didn't seem to jar him too much though, thankfully, and he continued his answer to Charlie's question. 

The meal had ended up a little later than they'd initially planned, more an early supper than anything else, and by the time it was finished, it was dark out.

After some clean up and cocoa as a bribe, Ellie put the kids to bed. It was early, but they would need the sleep for how much they'd be bouncing around in the morning when Mark came home. Plus, Alan and Billy had to leave by nine to catch their flight back, and there were a few topics she wanted their professional opinions on while they were here. And, no matter how well they'd fared with the kids, she knew they'd appreciate some quieter moments to catch up.

They'd cleared the table by the time she got back downstairs, half the dishes were clean and stacked and the other half were in the process of being scrubbed and rinsed by Alan and dried by Billy.

She took a moment to observe them, how closely they stood and how well they moved around each other. She supposed some of that could have been from digging together, she remembered the almost psychic link she and Alan once shared that let them pass tools immediately before they were even wanted. But still. . .

She wasn't going to bring it up, she didn't know if they themselves knew—how could they not? Did they even know that she had picked up on it? But if they didn't want to admit anything aloud, to tell her, then she would respect that. 

They settled comfortably in the living room with their own cocoa. Ellie pulled the curtains wider, seeing that it had begun to snow.

She eventually steered the conversation to the research she'd wanted their opinions on, though some of the opinions weren't quite the ones she was expecting, leading to a lively debate that lasted a good forty minutes. Most of Alan and Billy's viewpoints matched up, but if anything, it was more amazing when they didn't. There was something that kept Alan's smile wide, something that gave back years to his weather-beaten face. Her heart beat with an excitement reminiscent of the feeling of unearthing a new fossil, one that she'd admit to missing a little.  _Oh God, Alan. Look what you've found._

So _that_ was another thing Ellie had in common with Billy.

Billy was seated in the chair next to the Christmas tree. Ellie noticed that he kept looking at it. Well, she could hardly blame him, it was a very pretty tree this year. At one point he brushed his hand against a popsicle stick ornament that Charlie had made last winter, angling it upwards for a better look. Was he missing his family? Now that she thought about it, there did seem to be an undercurrent of melancholy that had briefly surfaced at times during the evening. She supposed it was the island. Ellie hoped the aftermath hadn't driven him away from the people he loved, she knew what that was like. . .

"Hey!" he suddenly exclaimed, picking up a wrapped green box from the pile of presents at the base of the tree. He peered at the tag. "Is there another Billy around here I don't know about?"

Ellie smiled. "Go ahead, that one's yours. Grab Alan's while you're at it, his is that red one with the snowmen." She pointed to it.

They opened them carefully, Alan looking a little embarrassed. "You didn't have to. . ." He pulled out the contents, raising his eyebrows at her. "Socks?"

"I seem to recall you never having enough. Those are wool, by the way, they're very nice. You're welcome."

Alan nodded slowly, smiling. "You're right, you're right. Thanks, Ellie."

She turned her attentioned towards Billy, who was looking at his present in awe.

"Are you sure?" he practically whispered.

It was her dig tool set. She'd bought it new a short time after Isla Nublar in an effort to strengthen her resolve to continue her field work, which didn't last for long. High quality, still in very good condition.

"Better it have some use than continue to collect dust." Not that she didn't intend to ever dig again, but when that time came, Ellie wanted to start fresh. And the truth was, she didn't know what else to get him, and this was something she knew he'd like.

He came over to hug her, which put the biggest smile on her face. "Thank you, Ellie."

Shortly after that it was time for them to leave. She followed them into the foyer, but with no intention of saying goodbye quite yet. A last minute bit of curiosity got to her, and she wanted to double check that Alan wasn't in fact ignoring an opportunity that had knocked on his door.

"Excuse us, Billy," she said, placing her hand briefly on his shoulder. 

Ellie shooed Alan down the hallway a bit, leaving Billy to put on his boots.

He regarded her questioningly.

"Alan, you remember what I said in the summer, about asking for my help?"

"I seem to recall that particular conversation, yes." Nodding, he caught his hat as Billy tossed it to him like a frisbee. "At least I finally listened. Thanks again, by the way."

Ellie thought of that phone call from the island, that feeling of terror as she listened. She pressed her lips tightly.

He cleared his throat. "And, you know, I won't be afraid to ask for your help anymore. Anytime something's got a hold of me, whether it's a dinosaur or not, I promise I'll call. How's that?" Alan screwed up his own lips into one of his wry smiles and ducked his head into his hat.

"I'm glad, but Alan. . . maybe there's someone else you'd like to call first." She practically broke the unspoken truce when her eyes darted to Billy, who was carefully wrapping his blue scarf around his neck and looking out at the falling snow from narrow window next to the front door.

Alan's smile twitched and his eyes burned a little brighter under the shadow of his hat. He didn't need to follow her gaze to know where she was looking.

"Ah."

He hustled her into the kitchen, out of sight of the foyer.

" _Ellie_ ," he seemed to warn.

But she wasn't trying to force him into an admission. "Look, Alan. All I'm saying is, you guys had an experience together, one that few people are ever going to understand. You have me for that, you're lucky. But no one in  _his_  life will. He's only got you."

Alan acted as though she had dropped a bomb. A bomb that he had heard whistling for miles but hadn't looked up to see its trajectory. He swallowed hard and couldn't meet her eye.

"And for as long as he wants, but, Ellie—"

Their conversation abruptly ceased when the creak of a floorboard resonated in the hall, not far from where they stood. Billy came into view.

She wondered if he'd heard that last part, Alan looked like he did, too. That was almost as good as an admission. But he didn't stand there staring like Ellie did. He brushed past Billy, heading towards the foyer.

Billy turned around after him, and Ellie followed. "What was that about?" he asked brightly, as if the strange blip of a moment never happened. "I heard something about 'calling a dinosaur', before you both ran away. That didn't work out too well last time, if you remember."

Alan was silent, ignoring him as he put on his boots and coat.

"Never mind, then." Billy looked a little hurt for a second, but his eyes sparkled with something else entirely, something Ellie noticed when he turned to face her. She winked at him, and his smile told her that he knew, and that he knew she knew. "Well, we don't want to miss our flight. Thanks again," he said as he put one arm around her, his other holding the tools. "The food was great and your kids are very cute."

Ellie laughed. "Thanks. Merry Christmas." Next she pulled Alan into a hug. "Call me when you make it back. Be safe."

"We will," Alan promised. "Merry Christmas."

She shut the door behind them as they stepped out into the snow, smiling to herself.  _That went pretty well_.

  



	3. Billy

  


They made their way out to the rental truck, a brand new red thing—somehow, it didn't feel right if it weren't some kind of truck.

The windows and windshield needed clearing, which Billy tasked himself with while Alan started the engine. Alan continued his silence as they backed out of the driveway and wound their way out of the residential streets.

Billy finally shed his gloves and eased out of his wet boots, propping his black-socked feet up under the foggy windshield. A moment went by, where they listened to the fan blow hot, dry air into the cab and to the spray of the tires on melted snow. Billy thought about what Alan said the other day, about how they could still be happy—and about what he had just overheard, the ammo Alan gave him. He made a decision. "For as long as I want, huh?"

"What?" Alan stared at the road ahead, pulling into a turn lane.

Billy repeated the question slowly, his tongue savoring each word. "I. . . _have you_. . . for as long as I want?"

Alan's foot backed off the accelerator and the truck lurched. He froze a second while he seemed to register the words and their meaning. He then swallowed, his face hard set as he cleared the left turn. The past few days of running in circles, and all the months before, moments that Billy was waiting for Alan to acknowledge. So much waiting, and at last, there was something concrete, a meaning that Alan would have to try very hard to ignore.

"What do you want me to do, Billy?" It wasn't an accusation, it felt more like a plea.

"Nothing," Billy said simply.

"Oh." Alan had never sounded more disappointed. "Okay."

Billy hastily corrected himself. "I mean, nothing special. Nothing out of the ordinary. I like things the way they are, well, except for the fact that we're not, you know. . ."

"Fucking?" Alan offered. It was odd to hear him say the word so bluntly, so huskily, and especially with that meaning.

Billy could hardly believe this was finally happening. "Yeah."

Alan chuckled, shaking his head slowly. "Well, I'm warning you, I'm a little out of practice."

Billy couldn't keep the grin off his face. "Oh, we can fix that, no problem," he casually allowed, as if he were merely talking about a broken computer instead of the prospect of a lot of sex with Alan. He suddenly felt a little out of breath.

The moment hung still for a while as they made their way down a surprisingly clear major road. It wasn't awkward, and Billy was glad. The silence was warm, as warm as the air from the blasting heater that stirred up the enchanting new car smell, dizzying Billy's head in a strange contrast with the cold window his forehead was now pressed up against.

Out of the corner of his eye Billy noticed Alan taking his right hand off the steering wheel and settling it gently on the smooth upholstery of the middle seat.

Billy took the cue, sliding his left hand over Alan's and tucking his fingers around it. The touch was electric, sending nerve endings into a buzz. His thumb traced over Alan's weatherworn knuckles and Alan responded in kind, running his own thumb along Billy's pinky finger, the intense sensation causing him to feel a little high.

Alan gave Billy's hand a squeeze before slipping out of it and returning to the steering wheel, in time to pull into another turn lane.

They idled, waiting for the light to change. The air was heavy with an unspoken possibility, mere seconds feeling like minutes as they stared at the red beacon flickering behind falling snowflakes. Giving into the building intensity, Billy finally fed some of the upper seatbelt back through to the lower belt, loosening its grip on his hips, and leaned over the empty space to meet Alan's lips.

It was clumsy due to the position, but they made the best of it. Billy drove his weight into the middle seat with his left palm and grabbed the back of Alan's head with the other hand, fingers fixed tightly in his hair. It took a beat for Alan to get with the program, overtaken with the sudden fact of the matter—but he did, pushing his lips against Billy's in earnest, letting Billy's tongue slip past and run along his own. They took in as much of each other as they could for the moment, adding their hot breaths to the cab air, until the remaining seconds ran out and a car honked behind them.

Alan tore himself away and stepped on it, driving into the glowing green intersection and clearing the turn. Neither had sated their hunger for each other, not even close. Billy glanced over at Alan, all shadowed eyes and deep breaths, beautiful in the light of the reflected snow.

"Alan, pull in somewhere."

He didn't need telling twice, and they dove into the parking lot of a car wash. Something in the back of his mind told Billy that this was a bad idea, but he ignored it, unbuckling his seatbelt and climbing over to Alan as soon as they were parked. 

He kissed him again and Alan kissed back, running his hands under Billy's coat and under his shirt. They were warm and strong, and they moved and kneaded and grabbed at him desperately. Billy's right knee slid down between Alan's thighs and he could feel him hard in his jeans, so he pressed further and started to grind—

Alan broke away from the kiss, gasping. " _Billy_." He tilted his head back and licked his lips.

No way. "Did you—?"

"No. I just— We can't do this here. We can't miss our flight."

Not that Billy would have minded. He was fine with finding a hotel and spending all night there with Alan. And he would have suggested it, too, but Alan wouldn't be happy with such a waste of money, even if he were happy with the rest. He probably wanted to get back home.

Billy rolled back off of Alan, more frustrated than ever. He'd started to sweat, so he wrestled out of his coat. " _Alan_. . . Alan, I want—"

Alan started the truck. "I know, Billy. We'll. . . it'll have to wait."

Billy sighed. "I know."

They fell into another silence as they struggled to calm themselves, only for it to be broken by Alan as they finally approached the airport. "This. . . this changes things," he mused.

"A little change isn't so bad, Alan."

His lips curled into a wry smirk. "I guess not, over time and all that. . ."

"There you go."

  


..:•:..

  
It was killing him, having to wait. Years of opportunity had slipped them by, and then they'd almost lost the chance forever. But these hours—driving, waiting, sitting, waiting, flying, _waiting_ —were somehow worse than any of that.

Billy couldn't believe he had to keep his hands (mostly) to himself, had to rein his thoughts in to maintain some level of purity, until they got back to Bozeman and stepped through Alan's door. It was inevitable at this point, their darting touches and charged glances saying as much, but Billy had never been so impatient.

An errant thought during their layover in Chicago left him a little breathless and annoyed. The door to a men's restroom was right in view from their chairs. Technically, _technically_ , they might get away with something quick. But other than the fact that it was a terrible, gross idea that Alan would probably never agree to in the first place, the notion left Billy with an empty feeling. And no matter how desperate, how caught up in the moment they'd been in the truck, he was glad Alan had stopped them. He'd waited years—damned if he was going to do anything but take the time to do this right. Long, slow, and _right_.

  


..:•:..

  
Jet lag had other things in mind when they got back to Bozeman, however. Billy didn't want to fall asleep, but it was nearly a Mountain Time midnight that felt like two o'clock in the morning.

He'd gotten through the door okay but then promptly fell onto the couch.

Alan tugged on his arm. "You're gonna regret sleeping there like that. Come on." He helped him back up, and up the stairs and into a room. 

Alan's bedroom. He was too tired to argue. "G'night," he heard himself say as he hit the soft sheets.

  


..:•:..

  
It was still dark when Billy awoke. He was alone in the bed, _Alan's bed_ , which was disappointing and confusing until clearer thoughts came to tell him, _of course_. He'd been asleep before Alan could ask, and even though he ought to have known that Billy wouldn't have minded sleeping with him—the opposite, obviously—it must have stopped him.

His shoes were off but he was sure he didn't take them off. _Whoops_.

The only light in the room was the red numbers from Alan's bedside alarm clock—6:43. Billy flipped the covers off, regretted it, but pushed on through the chilly air. Downstairs, a dim light was on in the kitchen and filtered into the living room enough to see.

Alan was where he guessed. A thin fleece blanket was covering him, the extra pillow stuffed between his shoulder and the arm of the couch. Billy both did and didn't want to wake him. He'd had enough sleep, surely, but he looked peaceful, if a little uncomfortable.

Billy had taken a step backward, back toward the stairs, when he saw Alan's eyelids flutter. "Billy."

"Morning, Alan." He grinned and went over to the Christmas tree to plug it in. "What are we thinking for breakfast? Cereal sounds pretty good, I—"

Alan's arms were around his middle, a soft kiss pressed against his neck. Billy closed his eyes and tried to remember how to breathe.

It all came rushing back to him. He turned around and grabbed Alan's head, pulling him into a deep kiss. He didn't notice them moving until his ass hit the wall, and Alan was pressing him against it with a thigh between Billy's legs. Billy felt like this was some kind of payback, for which he was all in favor.

Oh God, he was getting so hard already. "Slow down, Alan."

Billy didn't want to give up the warmth, the contact of Alan's body and skin, but he broke the embrace. In his duffel bag, which had been inhabiting a space by the front window since Saturday, he found what he was looking for—what he put in there in what he thought was the unlikely case he'd need it. 

Alan's mouth dropped open slightly at the sight of the lube and box of condoms, an expression Billy had never seen on him before. Billy almost expected Alan to call him out on it, but he didn't. Motivations, the past few days, the past few months, none of it seemed to matter now. All Alan said, in hardly above a whisper, was, "Upstairs."

Billy took his hand and led the way. 

"God, it's freezing in here, Alan," he complained as they stepped into the bedroom. Billy set the lube and condoms on the nightstand.

Alan let go of his hand. "Sorry, I forgot to plug in the space heater last night. Hope you weren't too cold." He turned on a lamp and bent down to get at an outlet. The space heater in question made some clicking sounds and its indicator light glowed red-orange.

"I was fine, your bed is warm. And large." Billy sat back down in it. "Get over here and fuck me already, Alan," he called, but Alan was on his way as the words came out. A look of determination was on his face, and he guided Billy's shoulders back to lay flat against the comforter.

Alan was on top of him, kissing him, and Billy felt his hard cock pressing against his leg, only contained by Alan's flannel pajama bottoms. "Anything I should know?" Alan breathed in his ear.

"Yeah," Billy panted. He pushed Alan up off him enough to look into his eyes. "I love you."

Alan went still, stared, and his eyes burned. "Billy. _Billy_." He wasn't sure he was going to say it back, but then Alan leaned down again and— " _I love you_. I love you so much that I don't know what I. . ."

Billy could see where this was going, and though he wanted that moment, too, right then he wanted something else a lot more. He rolled Alan over so that he was laying down instead, and straddled him.

Billy leaned down and kissed him, all the while helping him out of his t-shirt and tugging off his pajamas. He grasped Alan's cock, thick and good and hard and already leaking at the tip. Billy smeared the precome with his thumb and stroked and saw Alan close his eyes, then he slid down further to take it in his mouth. Alan groaned. Billy held it and licked and sucked, savored the feeling and the taste as he worked it slowly for a time. _Finally_.

He felt himself grow even harder, and suddenly Billy couldn't stand his own clothes anymore. He let go of Alan's cock and kicked off his pants, pulling off his shirt while Alan watched intently.

Alan didn't make a big deal of the scars, and Billy was glad. He'd never even seen the true damage from the pteranodon's talons, but he didn't say a word, only ran his fingers over them gently as Billy grabbed the lube and started to work himself open.

He was a hot mess in Alan's arms while he fucked himself with his fingers and he knew it. Billy's leaking cock ground against Alan's stomach while he whispered a string of incoherence to him, that he was _gonna ride him, do you want that, Alan? I know you do_ , but his resolve returned once his fingers weren't enough and he was finally ready. Alan gave his own cock a few strokes and Billy helped him roll on a condom.

He had Alan where he wanted him. After those summers at the dig, working alongside him everyday at the university. After all they'd said and done. After the island, when he couldn't even figure out where they stood anymore.

Billy positioned himself and sunk down onto Alan's cock, lost in the feeling of it slowly filling him up. "Fuck, _Alan_ ," he breathed.

"Yeah, that's what you're doing," Alan said back, but with none of his usual sarcasm. It was encouragement, plain and simple. Alan took Billy's cock into his hand and began to pump it. "You're doing great, Billy. You're amazing." Alan rose up for a kiss, but Billy had to push him back down almost right away because he had to _move_.

His thighs did most of the work as he pushed himself up and down, gradually getting faster and more frantic. Billy rode him, ran his fingers over Alan's stomach and then settled them over Alan's hands surrounding his cock. The way Alan was staring up at him, that look of disbelief and wonder, it was everything Billy had hoped for.

But he was quickly growing tired, his thigh muscles weren't as conditioned as they were before his time in the hospital, and their lack of real use these past months was taking its toll. They started cramping up, and his rhythm became staggered and he had to stop. Billy couldn't finish like this, no matter how much he wanted to. " _Alan_ ," he pleaded.

Alan seemed to understand, and the next thing Billy knew, his back was against the warm sheets where Alan had just been. Alan's cock had slid out of him during the switch, but Alan aimed the tip and pushed back in, quickly returning to the pace that Billy had set. Alan was above him, moving with him, thrusting inside of him, his eyes focused on Billy's.

It wasn't just the fact that he now knew how much Alan wanted him, too, it was that Alan was finally ready to be with him, that Alan cared for him as much as he cared for Alan, that he _loved_ him. . .

Billy was so close to the edge, but Alan came first, moving through his orgasm and holding Billy tightly, then gripping Billy's cock and drawing him over, too. Billy came, pulsing all over his own stomach.

Alan pulled out and learned forward, licking at Billy's stomach while Billy held his breath. Billy's heart was pounding and he was lost in the sight and the sensation.

He pulled Alan up for a kiss. It was long and slow and easy, and Billy decided he could do that forever, but Alan eventually broke the kiss to dispose of his condom.

Alan came back and pulled the covers over them, wrapping Billy in his arms. The room was warmer than it had been, and they'd worked up a good sweat, but it wasn't too hot underneath, and Billy needed Alan close. He rested his head on Alan's chest and sighed.

"I know I was pretty injured for a while after the island, Alan, but I thought. . .  On that carrier, then at the hospital, I thought we'd. . ."

Alan took Billy's hand, threading their fingers together. "I felt it, too. Billy, I'm sorry. I thought maybe you needed time, but then you—"

"When you didn't do anything, when nothing happened, I. . . Alan, I started thinking I might have imagined it. My head didn't feel clear for so long, I could have—"

"No, Billy, no." Alan pressed a kiss into his hair. "It was real. I was just. . . I was a coward."

"Alan Grant, the coward." Billy smiled. "Somehow that doesn't sound right."

"Maybe, when it comes to you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you everything. I'm sorry we didn't do this earlier."

There was still more they needed to say at some point, Billy was certain. But he chose to make that moment a little lighter. "Well, I don't think we could have quite done _this_ much earlier, Alan. I still am kinda stiff."

"Yeah, you _were_ pretty stiff."

Billy laughed, and then got up on his elbow to kiss Alan deeply. He couldn't get enough of the feeling, and he hoped he never would.

  


..:•:..

  
It wasn't a heavy snow, thick and wet—a Hollywood snow—but it was nice anyway. Billy watched as the dusty flecks of ice skittered across the pavement, accumulating thinly along the curbs. Not quite a white Christmas, but the sun was just up and it was early yet.

The space heater was doing its job and the outside world wasn't very clear, and Billy moved away when his breath had nearly fogged it all up. It only added to the concept that it was just him and Alan in this house, with nothing fighting their attention from each other.

He slid under the warm covers again, Alan returning from the bathroom the moment he'd gotten settled and disturbing his pocket of heat. It didn't matter, it was plenty warm with Alan there now, too.

"I have a confession to make," Billy started, when they'd gotten comfortable again.

Alan raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"My apartment's fine. And I didn't actually call."

"Really?" His tone dripped with sarcasm. "Imagine that."

At least he didn't ask why, that much was obvious, but Billy didn't want to admit to sitting in his apartment for days trying to come up with an excuse to see Alan. "There's something else."

"Yeah?"

Billy sighed theatrically, shaking his head. "I didn't get you a present."

Alan pulled him closer. "Me neither. But I have you."

"Yes, you do." He wiggled in Alan's arms, twisting around for a kiss. "Merry Christmas, Alan."

"Merry Christmas, Billy."

  


..:•:..

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, come bother me anytime on tumblr at [my billyalan sideblog](http://bisexual-paleontologists.tumblr.com)!


End file.
